Chilly Evenings
by Minchuks
Summary: Alfred is freezing to death in Moscow, and is desperately looking for a way to warm up. Luckily for him, Ivan has one solution for everything - vodka.


My usual disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz, not me.

Also, friendly reminder: please, drink responsibly, never drink and drive, and, in short, don't do what these people did.

* * *

Alfred knew it was going to be cold in Moscow, but damn. No wonder General Winter had been Ivan's greatest ally in battle, because this cold made Alaska seem like a nice place to go on vacation to.

There he was, huddled up on the couch in a thick, woolly blanket that couldn't keep him from shivering, sipping hot chocolate, fumbling with the controller in his cold hands and cursing whenever he lost the match because his frozen fingers refused to cooperate.

He let out an annoyed groan as his character went down again.

"Al, I'm up by three thousand points. What's going on with you?" Matthew's voice rang through Alfred's headphones.

"Dude, I'm pretty much a block of ice over here, I can barely hold the goddamn controller!" Alfred whined in reply.

"Is it really that cold up there?" Matthew asked.

"Yes! It's like negative 20 degrees here, and I'll probably have to go help shovel the snow tomorrow morning, too..."

"Negative 20 isn't that bad, though. It's a typical winter night here." The Canadian paused for a moment. "Or are you still using that Fahrenheit system of yours?"

"Of course, I am."

Matthew sighed. "That's why you need to switch to Celsius, Al. No one can understand you otherwise."

"Can we just agree that it's really, really cold here?" Alfred said desperately.

"Fine, I guess. Wanna do another round?"

At the moment the American was busy trying to return feeling to his hands, but his efforts were in vain. "I think I'll pass. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," Matthew replied, before disconnecting.

Alfred knew he had to do something about this cold before he genuinely froze to death. Looking around for something that could give him some warmth, he remembered about the fireplace in the lounge room. But that would mean having to walk through several rooms without a blanket; however, he knew that he needed to find some warmth. So he braced himself, and threw off the blanket.

His body immediately tensed in the rush of the cold air that now surrounded him. He moved his stiff legs as fast as possible towards his destination, when a freezing cold gust of wind hit him and a snowflake melted on his cheek. He turned towards the source of the wind, and what he saw absolutely shocked him and filled him with a considerable amount of anger towards the person he knew was responsible.

The balcony door was wide open, the light curtains gently fluttering, and a thin layer of snow covering the floor right in front of it.

Alfred slammed the door shut so hard that he heard something crack, but he didn't care. All he cared about at the moment was finding Ivan.

Unless... in the cold... it couldn't be, right? The guy was born in the cold, surely he should be fine.

And, of course, he was fine. Happily relaxing on the couch, knocking back shots of vodka, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, seemingly more than comfortable while Alfred was still shivering next to him.

"Why did you close the window? It's really stuffy in here, we need some fresh air," Ivan complained.

Alfred's eyes widened. "But it's freezing in here!" he shouted.

"Is it?" Ivan said, smiling. Alfred wasn't sure if he was teasing him or not, either way, he couldn't believe he was actually saying that. Out of curiosity, he touched the Russian's arm, and sighed in relief when he felt his fingers finally melt from the warmth under them- wait, what?!

Ivan cackled loudly, making Alfred draw his hand back in an instant. "How in the world are you so cold?"

"And how the hell are you not cold?" the American retorted, settling into the cushions next to Ivan.

"Don't know," the Russian shrugged, pulling out a glass from under the table. He poured a bit of vodka in it and handed it to Alfred. "Perhaps this will help. Infuse you with some of our strength against the winter."

That makes no sense, Alfred thought. He had read somewhere, late at night, when he was bored and surfing the internet, that alcohol actually lowers one's body temperature, but he saw little reason to refuse the drink.

"За здоровье!" Ivan cheered, drinking his glass dry, and Alfred following a moment later. The burn was quite familiar, not unpleasant at all, but then again, it was far from the first time he'd drunk with the Russian. However, those nights usually ended up being rather... interesting, to say the least. Not that he remembered them, in fact, most of those times were a fuzzy blur in his memory, but there were plenty of people who could remind him of what he'd done, and those things ranged wildly from trying to call North Korean officials in the dead of night to bungee jumping from the roof on Ivan's house to doing some things he'd rather not mention in polite company.

And most of those times, as vaguely as he could remember them, he knew they started with a drinking contest. As stupid of an idea that was, it always seemed like a fun challenge.

Just like what he was doing right now.

When Ivan polished off a glass, Alfred did too, making a point to always fill his glass more than the other did. At the very least he tried, though his mind was becoming hazier, but he lost count after the sixth or so glass, and once that happened, the chill he'd felt for hours was all but whisked away.

Alfred suddenly jumped up, stumbling over to the balcony that was the source of his suffering earlier, and found it hanging open. He'd definitely broken something earlier, but he had gone far beyond caring. "Oh, say, can you seeeeeee, by the dawn's early liiiiiiiight~" he sang, or perhaps shouted, before being yanked away from the balcony.

"We're in Russia, you can't sing that here, Alfred," Ivan said.

"Don't tell the hero what he can or can't do! Besides, my anthem is a lot better than yours!" Alfred blurted out.

The Russian let out a quiet chuckle. So it's a competition now?

Then again, pretty much anything could become a competition between the two former enemies.

Ivan fired up the speakers and music player, hoping that the next song in his playlist was his anthem, as unlikely as that was. And while it didn't turn out to be the song he hoped for, it was another song he loved dearly - Kalinka, which was one of his favorite Russian folk songs.

"DUDE! Can you teach me that dance?" Alfred exclaimed, an excited glint in his eyes.

The memories of dancing to the song in the military came rushing back to him. Not that he minded it, though, those were fun times.

"Okay, but it's pretty hard," Ivan warned.

"The hero will show you how it's done!" the American shouted.

Facing the other, Ivan began dancing to the music, and Alfred tried hard to keep pace with him.

Калинка, калинка, калинка моя,

В саду ягода малинка, малинка моя!

The Russian sang along to the song, skipping, jumping and kicking high while twirling the American around in circles. Alfred thought the steps were quite easy, if only a bit tiring, though, in his drunken state, he didn't notice he was completely off beat, his moves were erratic and nonsensical, and his dancing skills, if one could even call it dancing, were questionable at best, but he didn't care, as long as he was having fun, and he was.

As the last notes of the song rang through the house, Ivan ended the dance with a flourish, while Alfred lost his balance and fell backwards to the floor, but he picked himself up almost immediately, his roaring laughter filling the room.

"That was AWESOME, dude! Now, first one out the balcony wins!"

Ivan had barely registered Alfred's words when he almost flew by the Russian and hopped over the balcony rail. And, of course, the American just had to begin to sing that song as he fell down...

"I BELIEVE I CAN FL-"

...before his shout was cut off with a soft thud into the snow. By the time he landed, Ivan had run to the rail to see if his companion was fine, and he let out a quiet sigh of relief when he saw him rolling around in the snow. As soon as Alfred had rolled a bit farther away, Ivan followed him into the snow, landing slightly more gracefully than the other had.

Alfred was stumbling through the yard, the thick layer of snow hindering his speed, but he was nonetheless creating a snowstorm by throwing the powdery snow everywhere, however, he stopped after only a minute or two. "Hey, Ivan, why don't we build a snowman?"

The Russian opened his mouth in objection, unwilling to mess up the pristine layer of snow covering his yard, but before he could utter a single word, Alfred was already rolling the snow up. However, instead of joining him, Ivan ran to get a camera. He was sure the others were going to get a kick out of watching the American running around his yard and singing, more so shouting, Christmas songs.

It took Alfred less than a half hour to create, as Ivan had to grudgingly admit, a rather pretty looking snowman. He stepped back to admire his work, not noticing the other quickly trying to hide the camera he was using. "So, what do you think?" Alfred asked.

"It looks quite nice," Ivan answered absentmindedly, as he was paying more attention to how red the American's face and hands were from the cold. He reached out to take one of Alfred's icy hands in his warmer ones, shocked by just how cold it was. "We should probably go back inside, you're really cold."

"I'm not! And it's really fun out here, so I'm staying." Alfred snapped back, making Ivan genuinely concerned for his health. Without wasting much time, he swept Alfred off his feet and over his shoulder, barely caring how much the other was thrashing.

"Put me down, you don't carry the hero around like that!" he shouted.

Ivan didn't respond, instead making his way back to his house in a steady pace, and upstairs to the American's bedroom, where he threw him down on the bed, barely remembering to take off snow-caked shoes.

Alfred was still fighting back, though his resistance was quite weak, so Ivan was able to subdue him rather easily, just enough to cover Alfred's body with a thick, fluffy blanket.

"I think I've told you before that you can't defeat me in a drinking contest," Ivan said, earning an annoyed huff from the other. "Now go to sleep."

Alfred began protesting in a whiny tone. "But I don't want to~"

Ivan faced the American, smiling creepily, a scary aura surrounding him. "Go to sleep, Alfred."

Alfred plopped down on the pillow, but rose up a moment later, making his best attempt at puppy eyes. "Only if you stay with me."

He has no idea what he's saying, Ivan thought, his smile dropping. He knew Alfred wouldn't remember anything the next morning, and on top of that, he'd probably be sick, too, but he saw little reason to deny him such a small request.

The Russian crawled under the blanket next to Alfred, immediately feeling the American embrace him, his body still cold and damp from the snow, and letting him rest his head on Ivan's arm as he nuzzled in, smiling contently. "Thanks."

In response, the Russian placed his other arm around him, and buried his face in the American's blonde locks.

"Love you too." Alfred whispered.

And before long, his soft, slow breathing was the only sound Ivan could hear.


End file.
